Supernatural drabbles
by Lucidsilver
Summary: Ideas that I probably won't continue at later date.
1. Those Little Details

He was old enough to know better than to trust again, the pain from the last time that the creature had done so was still enough for his hands to tremble and his essence to quiver, a pathetic mess inside his meat-suit.

How a vague memory could reduce himself to such made him sick with self-loathing. The living creature was unsure of what exactly happened, but the result, most of his powers and memory blocked within him by a sleek colorless dome.

Every poke and prodded filled him with mind numbing pain and fear. He tried half halfheartedly every couple centuries to skirt the dome in a vain attempt to reach what was hidden within it.

Finally managing to find a weak spot did not turn out as the living creature had expected. Poking a hole through it was a mistake that cost him his mind. In his insanity a blight spread all across Midgard.

It was after the plague the living creature met the only one that he could trust, Loki.

No matter what that was one thing that did not change. The god didn't look at him with pity, disgust, or fear, despite his self-destructive tendencies, his dark twisted essence, or tendency to lash out and destroy while lost in the throes of madness, seeking his missing half beyond the shadows in his own mind.

Ever calm, the Trickster stared at him with an empathetic gaze, simply listened quietly to his rants and raves. He would fixed him up after acts of mutilation, cleaned up the mess he made, smile at him, taking him across Midgard to cause mischief and eat sweets. When the pagan gifted him a small rune engraved bracelet of glass beads, feathers, and twine enchanted assist in calming his mind, the creature felt an emotion he devoutly refused to look into.

If it wasn't okay, he made it okay, and the living creature was able to forget the dark empty silence that lurked barely tolerable with the help of the bracelet's warm glow, and the vague nightmares when he slept.

It was okay. Until it wasn't. Demons, and angels began roaming the earth, whispers of the Light Bringer's Rising. Loki's tight smiles and haunted eyes as empty assurance after empty assurance flowed like sweet vinegar off his once silver tongue tarnished by the led weight of each lie. He was worried.

Despite the fact that the creature was older, Loki had taken the role as the strong one. Fearless and confident, the pagan god always lightening the mood with jokes and teases.

Loki was the Trickster, the living creature's best friend and he liked to think brother, something he always thought but never said. Loki never said anything and he wouldn't be the one to presume their relationship was more than it was. Until it didn't matter wasn't.

The creature had been preparing to free Loki from the ring of fire he had been trapped in, slightly confused as to how it could trap him when his fellow Trickster was also a spirit of the hearth.

He soon learned why, and the revelation that Loki was actually the _archangel Gabriel_ was a crushing blow. Everything slowly fell into place, even as more puzzles were revealed.

Any desire to retaliate against the smart mouthed mortal was lost in the oh so familiar sour tang of iron at the back of his throat, the rising feeling of inebriation accompanied by swirls of black, red hazing the edges of his vision.

The serpent left before he lost himself completely to his rage, slipping out of his meat suite, leaving a confused amnesiac teenager dazed in an abandoned apartment. Archangel or not, he would regret killing the one he had considered his closest friend.

That night looking through a powerful enough telescope, bright lights could be seen winking from existence in the sky.

light years away several stars were consumed by a massive ebbing dark form.

.

..

.

He should have stayed away from America. Hel he should have left Midgard altogether, but no, even if the country was swarming with humans and demons, his two least favorite beings it was were his favorite little known grocery store Felix Garden Produce had set shop.

It was surprising how dedicated the family that owned it was to all natural non GM foods. Not that he had to worry about any effects such things like that had on him being a supernatural entity. Anonymous donations and loyal customers kept it up and running.

He couldn't be bothered to search else were for such a quaint little store like it, staying near to Gabriel had _maybe a little bit_ nothing to do with it.

The creature glared moodily at the still twitching body of a rather unfortunate demon sans most of the front half of it's meat suit and spiritual body shredded.

Said demon was vainly trying to scream despite having it's crushed throat between his fangs, leaving the creatures hands free to reorganize it's insides into knots and bows.

The pathetic thing should have known better than to posses human that worked at the creature's favorite food market, _and_ having the gall to pretend to be a cashier. touching the first bag of string cheese he had in weeks with it's tainted hands just sealed it's fate.

No. He was not taking out his abandonment issues out on the thing yes he was. He did not have any abandonment issues enough to write a short book. Gabriel did not abandon him, he simply lied so he left ran away.

The archangel omitted the truth, misled him, allowed him to assume and get attached, built a relationship on a lie, like being an archangel _didn't matter_.

His teeth chattering a habit he never managed to break, the creature paced in front of the slowly healing demon.

A baleful glare was fixated on the shuddering pathetic thing as it struggled to escape it's meat suit. Vain, he could suppress a demon's powers with a thought, binding it to a body was child's play.

Impatient he resumed picking the demon apart, absently aware of the agony it must have been in as bits of the corrupt soul were peeled away.

The creature was left with a pile of lumpy meat bones and the bloody uniform the body had been dressed with, the writhing shade of the demon squirming in the grip of his essence.

He didn't notice any of this, senses only aware of one thing, something that left the creature feeling a mix of numbed shock and denial.

Loki, the Trickster archangel Gabriel's seidr/grace flared in a way the creature had never felt before overwhelming his passive empathetic sense, radiating agony _**painpainpain**_.

Essence throbbing in time with his meat suit's pulse, the creature hissed, tentatively reopening his senses. There was nothing.

He could feel all the bright beacons that were supernatural beings of a higher tier, alpha monsters, several crossroad demons, angels, several fae, an archangel-

His breathing was slightly irregular, but the creature didn't notice that, eyes swelling to glowing green wells. An archangel that was _not_ Gabriel. Besides lingering residue that may as well be dust on the wind, there was nothing.

Hanging heavily on the creature's wrist, the woven feathered bracelet gag gift from so many centuries ago when they first became companions (_obviously angel feathers now that he thought about it) _was the strongest source of his friend's grace_. _ There was nothing else.

Black gnawed at the edges of his vision. _There was nothing else._ Water along all major coastal regions receded gradually out to sea and warm vapor was carried by the cold winds.

_Gabriel was Gone._

* * *

_pov of a grey/neutral Leviathan that managed to escape/ or was never put into purgatory. Has mental scars from encounter with archangels or some other beings from purgatory as it escapes. While wandering around earth it meets Gabriel as Loki, and is adopted/becomes friends with the Pagan god. When Leviathan finds out Loki is Gabriel hates archangel, only to be shocked when he feels Gabriel's death when it sends shock waves through those spiritually. aware_


	2. Travelling Star

She was walking down the street with a slight skip in her step. Only those who knew her well would recognize the faint narrowing of her eyes that caused wrinkles at the corners and the pressed lips were her version of a smile.

It was cold, the faint drizzles of rain causing her to shiver, hastily rubbing droplets from her face with a slight grimace at the moisture spotting her glasses. A neutral expression replacing as she pulled her scarf tighter, her shoulders hunched against the wind that ruffled her coat. At least she was heading home, out of the cold wet rain.

All thoughts of perching on her favorite swivel chair and finally getting around to reading the books recommended to her by a friend that finally arrived while eating muffins were interrupted by a sudden feeling of wrongness, the hairs at the back of her neck rising. At the screech of tiers she only heard in movies heralding a vehicle loosing control, she felt her eyes widen.

Feeling as if time itself slowed down, the girl turned, slowly as if moving through water to see the source of the noise. The truck was large and old she noted, well used and given only enough care to be barely operational. Probably why it was currently careening towards her, vaguely reminding the girl of a frantic dog she once saw stumbling over its own feet in pursuit of a cat.

Knowing it was pointless and accepting it was pointless were two very different things. The former applied to her more than the later. After the second it took to comprehend exactly what it was she was seeing, the girl spun lurching forward. trying to get out of the way.

In a vaguely dreamlike way, the girl noted some part of the vehicle, probably the front impact her shoulder and back, bones snapping and crunching, as the ground against each other. Coat and flesh shredded, bloodily torn open her body was picked up and sent flying.

she bounced one or two times, a tumbling bag of broken bones that landed not to far from her house, unfortunately in the middle of the road. The pain was mind numbing, intense, and impossible to ignore.

She could barely think, but through the fog that clouded coherent thought and the dark encroaching at the corners of her vision the girl realized absently that the loud snap that reverberated through her skull was her neck. Before the darkness fully claimed the girl hazily recalled just learning about internal decapitation a month ago from a news article. She closed her eyes.

It began with a bright light, blinding in it's intensity and pureness, piercing the primordial darkness and paving the way for all of creation. Events that few words in any language known to mankind could every truly describe were remembered.

The beginnings of Creation. The birth of the first of many universes, the carefully crafted marbles that orbiting orbs of light were part of blossoming spiraling galaxies. When the Old Ones threaten their Father's most precious creation, they helped cast them out. Alongside her siblings she watched her Father's work as the Creator filled the darkness with light.

Time passed, and there were more than just her three siblings. She played with fledglings, teaching them about their Father, who was busy furthering creation, only they saw him, bust as he was. Everything fell into a patten, all was peaceful and simple. There was no disorder or misconduct. The only disturbances were small acts of mischief by the younger, goaded on by the youngest of the original four, all in good fun. Humans, were a complication that she hadn't been able to handle. Her Father's greatest creation, one he wished them to bend their knee, bow down to.

Sculpted earth given form through creation, a sliver of her Father's brilliance, their souls bringing them to life. The very sight of them sickened her. Twisted mockeries that paled in comparison to her father, imperfect, flawed shattered things that's very existence set wrongly in her being. She swallowed her revulsion and tried to obeyed her Father.

But she couldn't understand. Why worship twisted flawed mockeries of the original? The source of all that is good and right, Life itself? She couldn't. humans were to cruel and violent, every act they committed marring the original luminescence of the soul gifted to them by her Father. spreading from the first man to all. Didn't they see it?

With pain if her grace, she confided with her siblings, only to be accused of betraying Father and gazed at with suspicion. Enraged and hurt she poured out all her feelings of betrayal, her refusal to love any being that corrupted and stained the gift their Father left for them.

What happened next was a blur. Exploding grace, broken wings, shrieks of the dying, and the clash of sword against sword.

She. Did. Not. Want. This!

She cried as brethren fell. wings stripped and burned as they fell in disgrace, cries of pain and suffering ringing through the aether. She was nearly catatonic when the eldest archangel arrived, sword drawn, thousands of wings spread aggressively.

It was awe inspiring in a horrifying way, knowing that he meant to kill her.

As the sword stabbed at her, she allowed herself to go with the blow, falling from heaven down to the dismal realm of hell, cut off from the voices of her siblings, though as of late, all she could have heard were screams and wails.

The walls of her cage closed in on her, the cold sapping the warmth of heaven till she was a hollow empty shell. Her Father was the only one capable of constructing such a prison. The realization hurt.

Hell had been her own creation, meant to be a place were she could flex her burning grace without worry of damaging any of her Father's creations, time running faster so she could practice longer without being missed. She wouldn't be surprised if she was the older sibling with how long she had spent in hell, aged and matured by the ever fluctuating passage of time. She hid any changes with wards imprinted into her grace, feeling it was best not to cause unrest among the host.

Naturally cold, the black ice covered much of the dismal realm took centuries to melt from the grace that permeated the place. With time her grace strengthened, burning hot enough to create lakes of fire. What was once her little private get away from the responsibilities that came with being an archangel, (not that she really minded serving her father) was now her prison. The walls pressing ever closer, suffocating and small to a being that could make the speed of light seem like a casual stroll.

For the first few centuries of imprisonment she tried to free herself, frantically clawing at the impenetrable walls, lashing with her talons wings and tails till they bled grace. When after the centuries passed and nothing changed save for the yawning cold in her grace growing larger, she frantically fluttered from one end of the cage to another, screaming out to her Father and brethren, unheard or ignored. It didn't matter which, none of them responded.

It was to small, to silent for one used to hearing millions of voiced always talking and singing, a constant ambiance that she felt so lost without. Singing brokenly to herself trying to ignore how impossibly loud the silence was, she finally settled into a corner of the cage, cradling the small flame her once brilliant grace was reduced to, thousands of tattered wings uncaring strewn around her.

She was lonely enough to create the first demon. In a fit of madness, thinking a familiar like companion would soothe the mind consuming quietness. Many more followed, and hell changed to accommodate them. Silence replaced by screams of the tortured and the twisted thoughts at the edge of her mind, for better or for worse.

She never did manage to break the cage that held, her, however she did manage to escape through a small almost insignificant crack, the thinnest sliver of space. Later she would recall that it was that exact spot all her eyes had been that exact spot all her eyes had been focusing on for hundreds of thousands of years spent in her isolation. The moment she noticed the opening, she tore herself to pieces in her fervor to escape.

Tattered shreds of grace condensed into small shades of the whole's former brilliance, rocketing out of hell, so weak and faint, they was easily mistaken as a souls by any supernatural creature that saw them, and just as easily forgotten once they passed through the reincarnation cycle.

For almost a thousand years, her shredded grace lay dormant withing vessels, rejoining with each death until combining to form a whole archangel that never felt more conflicted in all of her existence. She was an archangel, cast out of Heaven, even free there was no connection to her siblings, her grace bore no resemblance to the grace of an angel from Heaven, burning hot and cold in turns but still radiant but not in a way that and angel would recognize as one of their own.

She didn't feel as much loss as she expected. The memories of countless life times were just as hard to ignore, but Lucifer had other things to worry about. Mainly the vessel that her conscious had been occupying for the fourteen years being loaded onto a stretcher and the frantic truck driver babbling out apologizes to Hayley Adam's crying parents, the police standing a respectable distance while questioning bystanders.

Lingering the archangel simply stared at the body, then the crying parents. Hesitantly a wing tip brushed over their shoulders before with a leathery flap, the archangel vanished.

.

.

Sitting in at a outdoor fast food store she didn't bother remember the name of, Analucia Ellson Green stared pensively at the the plate of thin, round, starch-based cakes saturated in artificial sugars and corn syrup. With single minded focus, the small perfectly square piece impaled by a fork was examined for a full minute without blinking. She bit it off the fork, face blank as hazel blue eyes stared slightly glazed. The plate was quickly and efficiently cleared seconds later, and several more followed after it.

* * *

\- Lucifer disturbed by humans violence refuses to submit to them despite loving her father.

\- Small argument gets out of control as similar feeling angels lash out, starting a war in heaven

\- Lucifer falls before she can be cast out by Michael, but still ends up in the Cage. hundreds of thousands of years pass, and out of desperation for company she creates demons.

\- Lucifer escapes through a small crack in the cage, in the process tearing herself into pieces. Each shred of grace becomes a false soul, all of them combining with the last vessel's death. A dark imprint of Lucifer's negative emotions remains in the cage, which Azazel meets, starting the events that leads to the demons trying to start Apocalypse

\- Lucifer becomes known as a powerful neutral supernatural being that doesn't actively harm humans, and makes trades instead of deals, hides true form behind wards so no one knows for sure what she is

\- Lucifer meets Sam before or after Dean's death when he tracks the archangel, hoping to convince her to revive Dean in exchange for his soul or break deal


	3. Chapter 3

They remembered peering curiously into the Void many times, safely nestled at the junction of His neck and shoulders.

He radiated love and joy that burned bright and hot, much different from the soft dark emptiness they were, or the cool neutral presence of the unknown that lingered at the fringes of their perception, and far into the Void.

They dared not seek it out, to stray from their safe perch. He was a pillar of life, light, and something burning, sweet and fond they had no concept of.

To once again return to the cold unforgiving nothingness that they came from was to abandon the safety He provided.

They didn't plan on doing so when He seemed to not only tolerate their small insignificance, but welcome it.

At least not yet.

They gained more presence, to the point that they ventures from shoulder to crown, stretching stubby limbs He called wings towards the Void above.

He always watched them as they did so, keeping carefully still, but they could feel His pride and satisfaction over their accomplishment, even when they scurried back to their shoulder when a vague shape in the sharpened, suddenly closer.

Eventually they regained their courage under the gentle caresses and silent encouragements He provided.

Warily, they cast their perception past His presence and into the Void of their origin, huddled against His side that burned and soothed the cold emptiness in their core and filled it with something warm and

They stilled for a moment, poking and prodding for danger, wings slowly carrying them away further and further away.

If the small feeling of achievement wasn't enough for them to practice flying and exploring, the almost overwhelming feeling of awe and burning hot thing they could not understand, but gradually began to.


End file.
